


all this ringing in my ears (and none on my fingers)

by lye_kisses



Series: fire alarms [2]
Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Band, Fluff, M/M, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 11:47:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7360108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lye_kisses/pseuds/lye_kisses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Patrick wakes up to a loud, shrill ringing in his ear. He groans, rolls onto his back, and cracks open an eye to see a dark figure looming over his side of the bed.<br/>“What the fuck, Pete?” Patrick grumbles, swatting at his hovering boyfriend. “It’s-” Patrick squints at the glowing alarm clock on his bedside table, and groans again. “It’s two thirty, jesus fucking christ, get back in bed.” <br/> <br/>the long-awaited (not really) sequel to "tonight's just fire alarms (new friends are golden)"</p>
            </blockquote>





	all this ringing in my ears (and none on my fingers)

**Author's Note:**

> this is a little sequel to my other fic "tonight's just fire alarms (new friends are golden)". you can probably understand this without reading that one first, but i still reccomend it. thanks to the people who encouraged me to actually write this! and s/o, as always, to hanna, for reading this before i posted it and for being my friend.

Patrick wakes up to a loud, shrill ringing in his ear. He groans, rolls onto his back, and cracks open an eye to see a dark figure looming over his side of the bed.

“What the fuck, Pete?” Patrick grumbles, swatting at his hovering boyfriend. “It’s-” Patrick squints at the glowing alarm clock on his bedside table, and groans again. “It’s two thirty, jesus fucking christ, get back in bed.” 

Even though it's dark, Patrick can see the gleam of Pete’s too-wide grin in the dim light of his cell phone screen. This can only mean trouble. 

“Patrick Stump,” Pete says with a flourish, finally shutting off the piercing ringing coming from his phone. Patrick lets out an involuntary noise of relief. “Do you know what day it is?” 

Patrick’s brain is still foggy from sleep, but even if it wasn’t, he still wouldn’t have a clue what the fuck Pete is talking about. “I don’t know. Thursday, Friday maybe?” Patrick says, not even bothering to disguise the pure bitterness in his voice. 

Pete ignores Patrick’s blatant annoyance. “Yes, but even more importantly it’s-” Pete kneels down and taps the side of the bed, thankfully in a space Patrick isn’t occupying, in an imitation of a drumroll. “The one year anniversary of the day we met! Happy yeariversary Trick!” 

Okay, Patrick has to admit, the gesture is a little cute. He’s had an inkling that the anniversary of the fateful evening he and Pete met was coming up for a few weeks now, but he didn’t really expect Pete to remember, or do anything to celebrate. It’s not like it’s their actual anniversary, that isn’t for another few months.  Still, Pete should know by now that  _ no one _ is allowed to wake Patrick up, not even his beloved boyfriend.

“You’re kidding me, right?”

“No, really!” Pete says, leaning over to steal a quick peck from Patrick before standing up again. “It’s January 25th, exactly one year since the day we first laid eyes on each other.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “I believe  _ that, _ just, did you really need to wake me up in the middle of the night to remind me? You couldn't have waited until the morning?”  

Pete’s previously unwavering grin falls ever so slightly. “I mean- I  _ guess _ I could have. I just wanted to make it special, y’know? It’s not everyday you get to celebrate the love of your life saving you from freezing your balls off and becoming a Petesicle. My testicles and I still thank you, by the way.”

Patrick snorts a little laugh. “Your testicles won’t be thanking me anytime soon if you don’t get your ass back into bed.”

Pete pushes out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. It’s supposed to make Patrick feel bad, he knows, but it’s mostly adorable. Plus, if Pete were  _ really _ upset, Patrick would be able to tell by the line of his shoulders or the look in his eyes. “I’m trying to be  _ romantic _ .” 

“Romance can wait until sunrise. Or, no,” Patrick corrects, because sunrise is at like six am, and that’s still too early for Patrick. “Until I’m ready to be awake.” 

“But Patrick,” Pete whines, “I’m even wearing the outfit I had on when we met.”   
“Pete, if you picked those boots out of the trash again I swear to god...” Patrick forced Pete to throw the boots out after he wore them on a spring picnic to Lake Michigan. Sand plus lake water plus faux fur do  _ not  _ mix, no matter how many times Pete insists they “totally smelled like that before, Patrick, really”. 

“Well. okay, I’m not wearing those. But the rest of the outfit is complete.” Pete wiggles his hips in a way that Patrick would find stupidly sexy, had Pete not woken him from his precious beauty sleep. 

“I'm pretty sure you've been wearing those for the past three days,” Patrick replies, referring to Pete’s well-worn purple boxer briefs. 

“Hey,” Pete huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “It's only been  _ two  _ days. I'm not disgusting.”  Pete  _ is _ disgusting though; he kisses Patrick before they've both brushed their teeth in the morning and he cuddles Patrick daily, even when he has the flu and one time he didn't shower for a week after discovering “the wonders of dry shampoo Patrick, you should try it”. Patrick had been forced to lure him into the shower with promises of steamy shower sex. It had honestly been a win-win situation for him; he'd gotten to press Pete against the cool, slick, porcelain tiles and fuck him senseless,  _ and _ he’d gotten him to wash off his inch-thick layer of grease with actual soap and water.

“I beg to differ.” 

Pete huffs again. “You were in a way better mood the night we met.”  

That’s true. Patrick  _ had _ been in a surprisingly good mood for being dragged out in the middle of the night to the frozen wasteland that is Chicago in January. “I had to be, I had to trick you into liking me.”

“Aw, Patrick,” Pete says, smiling affectionately. Patrick tries his best to still look annoyed. “You didn’t have to trick me. I knew you were the one for me the moment I saw you in those awesome ninja turtle pajama pants. And I  _ definitely _ knew you were something special when I saw you out of them” Pete has a special ability to turn everything dirty in two seconds flat, but Patrick falls for it and blushes every time without fail. Plus, okay, Patrick is kind of a perv when it comes to Pete too, though who can blame him? His boyfriend is hot as fuck. 

“I might let you see me out of them again if you come back to bed,” Patrick says, putting his raspy morning voice to good use. 

For the first time since he woke Patrick up, Pete looks like he’s considering caving in and climbing back into bed. Finally.

“But wait,” Pete says holding up a finger. “One more thing.” 

Patrick can only imagine what Pete has in store. 

“Patrick Stump,” Pete says, dropping to the floor. He searches under the bed for a moment before procuring a tiny square black box and raising up on one knee. 

Patrick stares blankly. If he didn't know any better, he'd think he's dreaming. It's not that Patrick wouldn't marry Pete if he asked, say, another year from now, there’s no question that he would very much like to spend his life with him, but Patrick also doesn’t want to rush things and regret them later. “Um.” Patrick isn’t coherent enough for this shit. 

Pete carefully lifts the lid off the box, revealing a shiny, freshly pressed key. Patrick is even more lost than before. “Will you move in with me?” he says, with bright, optimistic eyes. 

“Pete,” Patrick says, smile creeping up on his lips. “We talked about this already.  My lease is up at the end of the month, and most of my stuff is here anyway.” His toothbrush is in the bathroom, mingling with Pete’s eyeliner pencils and hair straightener, he has a pile of sneakers by the front door, and he’s pretty sure there are more of his clothes in the closet than Pete’s. “Of course I will.”

Pete looks far too relieved for someone who's had this conversation before. “Babe, did you really think I would say no?” 

Pete shrugs, trying for nonchalant. “You seemed kinda annoyed at my whole romantic gesture. I figure if anything could change your mind, it’s me.”

“Don’t be an idiot, Pete,” Patrick says, reaching up to grab Pete’s wrist and rub soothing circles into it. “Yes, it  _ is _ fucking annoying that you felt the need to wake me up in the middle of the night, but you obviously had good intentions. And you can make up for your transgressions by doing what I’ve been telling you to and  _ getting back into bed _ .”

Pete finally,  _ finally _ concedes with a mischievous smile, flopping down like a starfish on top of Patrick, nearly knocking the wind out of him. 

“You’re an asshole,” Patrick says affectionately. He doesn’t actually mind Pete’s intense cuddling, save for when it almost suffocates him.  

Patrick nudges at Pete’s shoulder, and Pete shifts so that he isn’t completely crushing Patrick anymore, but is still practically covering him. Patrick slides his arms around Pete and rests them on the small of Pete’s back, relishing in how warm his skin always feels. 

“I love you,” Pete murmurs into Patrick’s neck. Patrick’s heard those words from Pete a thousand times over the past year, platonically, at first, in a “you’re so cool” kind of way, then sincerely and romantically, whispered across candlelit dinner tables, shouted from the rooftop at sunset, moaned into the very pillow Patrick is resting his head on. They make Patrick’s heart soar every time. 

“I love you more,” Patrick says, and means it. 

A comfortable silence settles over them, and Patrick is about to fall back to sleep when Pete whispers, “You know, the waking you up with my phone thing was plan B.” 

Patrick knows he’s probably going to regret it, but he asks “What was plan A?” 

“Actually setting off the fire alarm.” 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!


End file.
